Chapter Four
Knox
I knew I was in trouble the moment Caroline Belle walked through the door of my cycle shop with a determined look in her eyes and Linzie’s school file clutched against her chest. I’d been elbow-deep in engine grease, finishing a brake job for a local kid who’d already left me three voicemails about “needing his bike ASAP.” I was sweaty, my hair sticking to my forehead, and my ragged shop T-shirt smelling faintly of burnt oil. The sight of Caroline in a mauve wool coat, dark jeans, and knee-high boots stopped me cold.
“Hey,” she said, stepping carefully around a discarded muffler on the concrete floor. “You busy?”
I snorted. “Always. But I can spare a few minutes.”
Caroline’s gaze flicked to the chain pulley I’d left half-disassembled on my main workbench. I liked to keep the place tidy, but the last hour had me searching for a missing bolt and inadvertently rearranging half my tools. Meanwhile, the overhead lights hummed, casting weird shadows on the cinderblock walls. It didn’t matter. Caroline looked like an angel, and I felt about as far from holy as a man could get.
“I wanted to talk about Linzie,” she said. “Is this a bad time?”
I exhaled. “We can talk. Just, uh—maybe not out here.” I glanced down at my hands, black with grease, and realized I must look like I’d crawled out of the underside of a broken car. “Actually, come on upstairs. It’s slightly less messy.”
She nodded, offering a small smile. “Sure.”
I led her to the back corner of the shop where a narrow metal staircase climbed to the apartment overhead. Linzie was at school for after-hours band practice—something she’d insisted on attending, to my shock—so I knew the place was empty. Still, the idea of taking Caroline up there made my pulse skitter. I didn’t have a lot of space, and what I did have was more functional than presentable. But she didn’t bat an eye as we reached the top landing, stepping inside my little sanctuary with quiet curiosity.
“Sorry,” I muttered, shoving aside a pair of old boots near the door. “It’s not exactly HGTV material.”
She shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’m used to clutter—my sixth graders leave trails of chaos everywhere.”
I grunted a laugh, relieved she wasn’t judging me. “Let me wash up, at least. Grease doesn’t pair well with conversation.”
Caroline set her files on the small kitchen table. “Of course.”
I ducked into the cramped bathroom, turning on the faucet and scrubbing vigorously at my hands with an industrial-grade soap. My reflection in the mirror revealed a tired face—dark hair matted to my forehead, faint lines around my eyes. You look like you’ve been wrestling an engine block all day, I thought wryly. Because you have. After a minute of thorough scrubbing, I managed to get most of the grime off. I dried my hands on a threadbare towel, feeling a flicker of embarrassment that Caroline might see the fraying edges.
When I re-entered the main room, she was standing by the makeshift kitchenette, peering at the battered coffee maker I’d rescued from a yard sale. “Would you like a coffee?” I asked, a bit awkwardly. “I only have the cheap instant stuff, but it’s… well, it’s something.”
She turned to me with an apologetic smile. “Actually, I’ll just have water if that’s okay. I had a latte earlier, so I’m coffeed-out.”
Relief eased the tension in my chest. I’d been half-dreading the moment she’d realize all I could offer was stale instant coffee that tasted like burnt cardboard. Grateful, I grabbed a clean glass and filled it from the tap, handing it to her carefully. She took a sip, looking around the small living area.
“It’s nice,” she said gently, eyes settling on the worn couch. “Cozy, I mean.”
“Thanks,” I murmured. “It’s better than where Linzie and I used to live, anyway.” A wave of old memories flickered through me—nights of yelling, smoke in the air, and fear that came from living with parents who couldn’t stay clean. My jaw clenched. “I’m trying to give her something stable, you know?”
Caroline nodded, her expression sympathetic. “That’s actually why I came. I think Linzie might need formal evaluation for a learning disability—something like dyslexia. I’ve seen signs in her reading patterns, and if I’m right, it might explain why she’s so frustrated.”
The muscles in my shoulders tensed. Learning disability. The words prickled at me like barbs, stirring defensiveness I couldn’t quite quell. “She’s not broken,” I said, perhaps too sharply.
Caroline’s eyes flicked wide, and she lifted a hand as if to calm me. “I know. Absolutely. Knox, that’s exactly what I want to clarify: a diagnosis doesn’t mean she’s broken. It means she might learn differently than the mainstream system is designed for. If it’s dyslexia or another learning disorder, she could get accommodations that would level the playing field. Extended time on tests, maybe alternative reading strategies. Nothing is wrong with her, it’s just—”
“She’s not defective,” I cut in, anger flaring. I regretted my tone instantly, but the frustration was real. “I’ve spent my whole life watching people slap labels on me, on my family. I hate the idea of them labeling her, too. She’s a good kid. She’s just having a rough patch, that’s all.”
Caroline inhaled calmly, setting her water glass aside. “I understand where you’re coming from. But labeling isn’t the same as diagnosing. This would be on her terms, to help her. Not to brand her as a problem child. Dyslexia is common, and plenty of extremely smart people have it. There’s no shame in that. Actually, it could be a relief—she won’t have to think she’s just ‘bad’ at school when, in reality, the teaching methods might not match her learning style.”
My anger slowly ebbed, replaced by a sense of guilt. She wasn’t insulting Linzie. She was trying to help. Why do I always jump to the worst conclusion? Letting out a shaky breath, I dragged a hand through my hair. “All right,” I said, forcing my voice to steady. “Tell me more. How’s this work?”
Caroline’s stance relaxed. She sank onto the edge of the couch and patted the seat next to her, inviting me to sit. I hesitated, then joined her—leaving enough space that I wouldn’t crowd her, but close enough to feel the warmth of her presence and catch the whiff of whatever fragrance she was wearing—lavender, maybe? Whatever it was, it made me want to lean in closer, but I resisted.
“We’d talk to the school counselor first,” she explained. “From there, the counselor might do some preliminary tests or refer Linzie to a specialist for an official assessment. If she’s diagnosed with dyslexia—or anything else—they’ll set up an IEP or 504 plan, which is basically a roadmap of supports she can get in class. Extra time on reading assignments, maybe some assistive technology and individualized support. It can make a huge difference.”
I nodded slowly, letting her words settle. “And Linzie won’t just be teased as, I don’t know, the ‘dumb kid with special treatment?’” My throat felt tight admitting that fear out loud.
“It’s all handled confidentially,” Caroline said gently. “The teachers who work with her will know, of course, but the rest of the students don’t get a big announcement or anything. And these days, schools are better about normalizing different learning styles. The biggest challenge is convincing Linzie it’s not a bad thing. She might still resist at first.”
I looked down at my hands—clean now, but still cracked from hours of manual labor. “Everything about this is complicated,” I muttered. “Linzie’s already been through so much. I don’t want her to think I’m disappointed in her.”
Caroline’s expression turned sympathetic. “That’s why it’ll be important to approach it with positivity. Emphasize that she’s bright but might just need alternative strategies that align with how her mind works. You can tell her you support her no matter what.”
A lump formed in my throat. The kid was bright—at least I’d always thought so—she was definitely smarter than me--but looking back, I guessed I’d never said it to her face, not in so many words. The guilt twisted again, remembering how distant Linzie and I had grown over the years, even though we were family. “Yeah,” I croaked. “I’ll do that.”
An awkward beat passed, the hush of the apartment magnifying every shuffle and breath. I sensed Caroline studying me, and a swirl of conflicting emotions churned in my gut—relief that someone had answers, fear of what the future held, gratitude that she was here at all.
“Look, I’m sorry I got riled up,” I finally said, rubbing the back of my neck. “I just… hearing that something’s ‘wrong’ with my sister touches a nerve. Growing up, we had teachers, social workers, cops… always telling me I was a lost cause, that my folks were criminals, that I was following the same path. I never got a real chance. Now that I have the power to fix things for Linzie, it’s like I want to shield her from every negative label.”
Caroline reached out, resting a hand lightly on my forearm. “It’s not a negative label,” she said, voice earnest. “It’s a tool to ensure she isn’t misunderstood. You’re doing the right thing. Trust me on this.”
Her hand on my arm felt electric, and I swallowed, meeting her gaze. The sincerity shining in her eyes threatened to break through defenses I’d held for years. I cleared my throat to dislodge the sudden tightness there. “I do trust you,” I murmured. “That’s… new for me, trusting someone outside of family. Granted, I could never trust them to begin with.”
She gently squeezed my arm before pulling back. “You and Linzie have each other now. And you have people who want to help.”
I nodded, exhaling slowly. “Yeah. I guess I’m not used to that. Even in prison, it was always about looking out for myself. Though, I did have someone who believed in me. The chaplain, Pastor Vic. God, I used to think he was just a naive do-gooder. But he kept visiting me weekly, listening to whatever verbal vomit I had to spew that day, and never gave up. He helped me get my GED.” I paused, memories swirling. “Without Pastor Vic and his mercy, I wouldn’t own this shop. I wouldn’t be able to give Linzie a roof or a chance.”
Caroline’s face lit with admiration. “That’s amazing,” she said softly. “You’ve come a long way, Knox.”
Heat rose in my cheeks at her praise. “Sometimes feels like I haven’t come far enough. People in town still give me these looks. And half the time, I can’t blame them. My record isn’t pretty.”
“It’s not about the record,” Caroline said. “It’s about what you’re doing now. You’re providing your sister with a stable home, investing in a legal business, showing up when it matters. That’s all anyone can ask.”
An ache spread in my chest, a mix of gratitude and longing. She was so different from the people who’d dismissed me for my past. And she saw me—really saw me—in a way that made me feel more hopeful than I had in years.
“Thanks,” I whispered. My gaze drifted to her lips, and I found myself wanting to kiss her.
Caroline seemed to sense it too; her cheeks pinked. She cleared her throat, shifting on the couch. “So… any questions about the evaluation?”
I forced myself to focus. “Should I be there when they test her, or is that something the school handles alone?”
“You could sit in on parts of it, depending on the counselor’s approach. Sometimes having a parent or guardian around helps the child feel safer. But if Linzie thinks you’re hovering, it might stress her out. We’ll figure out a balance.”
I nodded, imagining the look Linzie might give me if I hovered. “Right. I’ll let the counselor lead the way.”
An awkward silence descended, thick with the tension we’d been avoiding. Caroline fiddled with the hem of her sweater, and I realized, with a jolt, that we were basically side by side on my worn couch, a mere few inches separating us. My heart drummed harder.
“You’re a really good sister,” I murmured, “well, not sister, but—teacher, I mean. Sorry.” I closed my eyes briefly, feeling like an idiot. “I’m not good at this.”
Caroline laughed softly. “I’m not Linzie’s sister. Although it feels a bit that way sometimes. But thanks. I just… I never fit the mold my family wanted for me, so I know what it’s like to be misunderstood.”
I frowned. “You? Misunderstood how?”
She hesitated, tucking her hair behind her ear. “They think I’m still a baby. I never had the ambition for a big career like Mira, or a big city life like some of my cousins. They see me as timid, quiet—someone who never challenges anything.” A bitter edge laced her tone. “I just wish they’d realize I can be both responsible and adventurous in my own way.”
I reached for her hand without thinking, letting my calloused fingers curl around her smoother ones. She stiffened slightly, then relaxed. The contact felt right, like a puzzle piece snapping into place.
“You’re the first person I’ve met who doesn’t treat me like I might relapse into crime at any second,” I said quietly.
Caroline lifted her gaze, eyes shining with empathy. “We all have pasts. Doesn’t mean we can’t change.”
Our eyes locked, the tension sizzling between us. Her lips parted slightly like an unspoken invitation—or maybe it was just my wishful thinking.
“Caroline,” I whispered, lifting my free hand to trace a strand of hair from her forehead. “I… can’t stop thinking about you.”
She inhaled sharply, and for a heartbeat, we both leaned forward, a magnetic pull drawing us together. Heat rushed through my veins as I imagined the press of her lips, the warmth of her body. My heart pounded so loudly I was sure she could hear it.
Then, as though some invisible line was drawn, she pulled back, eyes flicking downward. “Knox…” she began, breath catching. “I—Linzie, the evaluation, everything’s so complicated right now. We can’t… we shouldn’t complicate it more.”
I stayed still, frustration mingling with understanding. She was right—we’d only just begun tackling Linzie’s problems, much less mine. “I know,” I said thickly. “You’re right.”
But even as I said it, my chest felt hollow. The craving to close that distance was overwhelming. I forced myself to drop my hand from her hair, ignoring the protest echoing through my mind. A few seconds ticked by, both of us breathing heavily as we wrestled with impulses we weren’t ready to unleash.
She cleared her throat, disentangling her hand from mine. “I should go,” she murmured. “I have lesson plans to finish.” Her cheeks were flushed pink, her blue eyes flicking away from mine.
“Yeah,” I rasped, standing up from the couch. I felt the loss of her warmth like a physical ache. “I—I’ll walk you down.”
She nodded, gathering her files quickly, refusing to look at me. Together, we made our way downstairs, the clang of the metal steps echoing in the hush of the night. At the bottom, I unlocked the shop’s front door and held it open for her. A blast of cold February wind stung my face as we stepped out onto the sidewalk.
Caroline turned to me, hugging the files to her chest. “So, I’ll talk to the counselor tomorrow about starting the evaluation process. We can talk again once we have some initial dates. Let’s keep Linzie in the loop too.”
I nodded. “Yes. And…thanks. For doing this.”
Her lips curved in a bittersweet smile. “Of course.”
For a second, it looked like she might hug me goodbye. But then she simply gave a small wave and headed for her car. My gaze followed her until she disappeared into the darkness.
If there was one truth I’d learned from Pastor Vic’s words, from the hours I’d spent praying for a second chance, it was this: redemption wasn’t a quick fix. It was a daily commitment—doing the next right thing, then the next. If I could do that for Linzie, maybe I’d be able to prove myself worthy of Caroline’s trust as well—and the possibility of something real between us down the line.
But reason did nothing to quell the ache of wanting Caroline Belle in my arms.